Oxygen
by somakeitcount
Summary: Emmett is deeper than people think. How deep to his emotions for certain people run? As told by Emmett Cullen. One-shot.


A/N: Here's a cute short for you guys. Emmett is talking about his feelings for Rosalie. Huzzah. LOOOVE. Inspired by **Yellowcard**'s **Only One**.

Disclaimer: I do not own any portion of or ideas from Stephenie Meyer's books. I only wish I did.

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**Oxygen**

It is true that many of the things that are good in my life right now, I owe to Rosalie. It is also true that I owe my very life to her. She brought me into a new world, a place where I now fear nothing. I have found myself more capable of emotion now, as opposed to what I remember of my human life. The most intense emotion I feel is, without a shadow of a doubt, love. Love for my life, love for my family, but most of all, love for Rosalie. She is my oxygen, my reason for being. I know all too well that I could not exist in a world without her.

Her face is the last clear memory I have of being a human, and that's alright with me. I remember the bear attack, although it is slightly fuzzy. I remember the pain, especially. The claws and the teeth slicing through my skin, the broken bones from being tossed around... All of these things are quite clear. I've been told that there was very little in me that had not been mauled. I should have died that day, and I suppose I did in some ways. But really, I was saved and reborn.

I can still hear the feral snarl that did not belong to the bear, the heavy footfalls of the bear as it retreated. Cold arms picked me up gently, cradling me into an even cooler bosom. My saviour was female. Although she had been colder than the night air, I did not shiver. The cold was comforting in a way. I wonder now why I hadn't been afraid, why at no point did I struggle or cry out. Maybe that just proves that when you're supposed to be with someone, I mean _really_ supposed to be with them forever, it just feels right. And that it did. Her face had been bright and beautiful, as if she housed the sun inside of her. I can still see the forest whipping past me as she ran. She carried me so gingerly, compensating for every movement so that I would feel no pain from my broken body being jarred.

The next thing I knew, I was in a house full of bright rooms. It was warm, which was pleasant until I realized that I was burning. Or so I had thought. The fire that spread through my body had been excruciating, and I can vaguely recall terrible, terrible dreams. I have been informed that this went on for three days, and they were certainly the three worst days of either of my lives.

I have seen many beautiful things in my lifetime. I have seen the Seven Wonders of the World, the rainforests of South America, the ruins in Peru, the Great Barrier Reef of Australia. I have travelled all over the world and seen the most beautiful of everything there is to see. But I have yet to see anything more beautiful than the face of my saviour when the fire stopped.

When my eyes opened, Rosalie had been sitting beside me, a dazzling smile on her face. Her eyes were the colour of amber, her skin a soft ivory. Her long, blonde hair was swept up in an intricate set of braids and curls, which were pinned at the nape of her neck. I damn near went into shock; she was the most beautiful, amazing creature I had ever seen in my life. Her teeth, pearly white, gleamed like the sun as I stared up at her in awe. "Hello, stranger," she had whispered softly. In that moment, I stopped breathing entirely, a lump of emotion building up in my throat. I was in love with a stranger. Some people say that there is no such thing as love at first sight, and I agree with that. That is lust. I do, however, believe in soul mates. And in that moment, I knew that I had met mine.

"Hi there," I'd croaked, my voice coming out as though I were going through puberty again. Well that was certainly one way to make a first impression. Rosalie threw her head back in laughter, and the sound was like a million wind chimes. I fell harder and harder for her every second.

When her laughter had subsided, she looked down at me again, the same sunny smile on her face. "I'm Rosalie." Her voice was like a church choir, melodic and sweet, and I sighed inwardly, enjoying her presence.

"I'm Emmett," I said, my voice stronger now. It was strange to me, in a way. It was not as coarse as it had once been, almost like I was singing. It was beautiful.

"Emmett," she said, as if tasting the name. "Emmett... I like that." Another smile lit up her face.

"I like Rosalie, too. It's pretty." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and she looked down at her feet shyly. I decided to step out on a limb, and sucked in a deep breath. I'd approached prettier girls before. ... Well, that was a bit of a lie, but it was a confidence booster. "I think you're pretty, too. Prettier than anyone I've ever seen. More beautiful than anyone I've ever seen..."

Her eyes widened, her mouth curving into a smile again. God, she was incredible. "And you're the most handsome man I've ever seen." Her eyes glittered, and another lump rose in my throat. This was the first woman who had ever actually taken my breath away. "And I've been around for quite a while..." she added, softly. I cocked my head to one side, raising an eyebrow. I was sure that she wasn't that old. Rosalie reached out to me, pushing some hair off of my forehead. "Don't worry. I'll explain everything."

Since that day, Rosalie and I had travelled to places that I had never dreamt of seeing before. We have demolished more houses than she would like to admit (although I have no problem admitting to the number) in our "throes of passion", as she likes to call them. We've camped on mountain tops and hunted in the savanna. Everything we have done, we have done together. And I have enjoyed every moment. I love her more than everything in the world combined. I would give up my own life without so much as a thought if it meant that she could live.

There is only one regret that I have about loving her, and it is one that will stay with me for the rest of my days. It is the regret that I cannot give her a baby of her own. She does not readily admit it, but with persuasion and coaxing, she will. It breaks my heart to see her face when a mother and father walk down the street with a baby carriage. It is as if a part of her dies for a moment. The look of longing crosses her face, a desperate pain, but only for a second. She doesn't think I do, but I see it every time. Part of me longs to be a father; I think I'd be an awesome dad. And there is no one else in the world that I could see myself having a child with but Rosalie. It makes me sad to know that it is impossible. But for me, knowing that I get to spend eternity with Rosalie is enough. I can only pray that she feels the same way for me.

I have seen millions of women in my lifetime, and have been with more than a few of them. But one thing is clear to me: no one else can ever make me feel the way I do for Rosalie, my friend, my lover, my confidante. My life.


End file.
